Hope Is Not Enough
by Alena Summer
Summary: Spencer's world falls apart when her parents send her to New Hope Wilderness Camp in Montana--a correctional camp for troubled teens. Will the rambunctious Ashley Davies only make her life worse, or will she be Spencer's light during this turbulent time?
1. Light is the Illusion

Something wasn't right. You know that feeling you get just before something bad happens, that sort of tingling sensation that creeps at the back of your neck and the nagging feeling that pricks at your mind? That feeling of unease was infecting a certain girl's dreams, tumbling her into a chaotic mess of imaginings that refused to make sense even for the world of fantasy. The act of sleep that usually brought relief and freedom from reality was now a place of evil grins and malevolent hands that spread terror wherever they touched. Sweat beaded on a pale forehead as skin twitched in response to such unwelcome nightmares.

A voice that was usually comforting in its familiarity broke through the web of this girl's unpleasant dreams. Ordinarily she would have felt ease at its presence when the alternative was to remain in the clutches of a nightmare. Now, however, that voice was almost as unwelcome as the dreams. It was like a spear tearing at her flimsy world of sleep, jabbing her into the unwelcoming fold of wakefulness. She was ripped from the clutches of her unconscious mind and thrown into a world of waning darkness.

"Get up."

Two blue eyes cracked open to survey the world as illusion spun into reality. Light flooded the room as a switch was flipped, burning the eyes of the girl who was sprawled haphazardly across her bed, her chest still heaving irregularly with the rhythm of disturbed breathing. A loud moan and a hushed series of disgruntled mutterings slipped from her tongue as the girl flipped over to hide her face in her pillow.

"Sweetie, get up. It's time to go."

Go? That caught her attention, helping her ignore the forced and aggravated nature of the endearing term her father had just used. She rolled over in a tangle of yellow and pink sheets to open her eyes. They were forced to acclimate to the room, forced to cope with the irregularity and wrongness of the situation that was surely unfolding. She threw one slender hand above her head as her dad came into focus, fingers mixing with the gentle waves of her wheat blonde hair. Immediately, she was confused by his features; his usually jovial face was creased with lines of worry and a consternated frown. Distantly, she wondered at his expression, puzzled by the lines of age that now graced his face. Since when had he become so old? When had he lost his youthful candor and pleasant poise?

Her attention was caught by foreign voices that were heard outside her room, her sanctuary. Those voices were violating her space, grating upon her ears. They brought back the memory of her nightmares, pulling them to the surface when they would otherwise have slipped into the shadows of the unconscious. She felt them clawing at her mind as she struggled to locate the source of the unfamiliar voices. The prevalent thought that she was struggling to grasp was that there should not be those voices outside her door. They should not be invading her safety without her consent, blatantly ignoring the unspoken boundaries that accompany a sleeping space. She became cognizant of how deeply masculine the voices were. They were almost reckless in tone, completely oblivious of the fact that she was still warding off sleep. She struggled to comprehend the situation, her clear blue eyes now dark with confusion as the feeling of deep wrongness continued to settle in her chest. She felt her lungs constricting. It was as if she were caught in some sort of net with no route of escape present. She felt tangled and confused, the last threads of sleep further inhibiting her ability to form rational thought in this startling situation. Her mind was cloaked in fog.

"Dad? Wh-what's going on?" She found her tongue capable of movement and used it in an attempt to gather information.

"Spencer, I want you to meet Ben and Michael. They will be escorting you to New Hope Wilderness Camp."

His voice was small and gentle and very sad. She found his green eyes no longer capable of making contact with her piercing blue ones. He almost flinched from her words, as if they were snakes reaching out to pour venom into his veins.

"Dad, what are you talking about? New… New Hope Wilderness Camp? What's going on?"

Her voice had lowered. There was now a measure of desperation in her speech.

"Spencer, honey… you're going on an adventure."

That only confused her more. She tilted her head at him, but he ignored her expression. His voice was now throaty and choked with emotion; although you could tell he was trying to remain strong in his resolve. He offered her a smile that was devoid of any comforting qualities. When she refused to return the expression, his lips fell into a frown. She watched as his eyes grazed over her features as if he was trying to memorize them, as if for some reason he was worried he might forget.

"We'll take it from here."

Spencer turned her head so fast to the man that had spoken that she nearly gave her neck whiplash. The man—who was so tall she swore his neatly combed hair nearly brushed the top of her doorway—offered her father an indulgent smile and stepped toward her. She gave him a withering glare that could have melted an ice shelf in Antarctica. She briefly wondered which one of them it was—Ben or Michael—but she wondered it in the detached way of a person that has just undergone some traumatic experience and can only form the most random and useless of thoughts.

"Spencer, right? Well, Spencer, you need to put on some decent clothes and come with us."

In response to the devious glint that was ignited in her eye, he added, "Oh, and I don't recommend trying to fight us or get away. Trust me on this—_you __won't win_."

His following grin was almost cat-like, and she resisted the urge to leap out of the violated safety of her bed and slap it right off his face. The other man stood behind him, standing square with a blank and disinterested expression on his face. He looked more like a soldier in his current position, and for all she knew, he was one. Seeing that the situation was under control, her father extricated himself from the situation. Her eyes burned holes in his retreating back. She felt hot and angry tears sting at her eyes, but blinked them away as she returned her attention to the two men who were invading her territory. She took a deep breath to center her emotions and prepare herself for whatever was to come. In as calm and rational voice she could muster in this disorienting situation, she spoke.

"Can I have some privacy to get changed at least?"

She saw the one man vacillate, undecided, before he nodded his head gruffly.

"You've got five minutes. And I wouldn't try anything funny if I were you, you hear me?"

She didn't say anything in response, merely stared at him menacingly until he turned out of her room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he left, she breathed a deep, shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes shut. A rush of emotions clambered for her attention, but she pushed them all down. She should have been crying, screaming, protesting—anything other than sitting in the midst of sheets that retained the impression of her sleeping figure. But no, no sound emerged from her as she focused instead on the silence of her room. She wished it could have been a comfort to her in such a crisis, but now that silence just felt empty, pronouncing the precariousness of a situation she could not control. She clung to her calm. Perhaps she was too shocked to fully comprehend the gravity of what was happening, or maybe she was just grasping her usual calm stature—the only normalcy in a time of irregularities and unfamiliarity. It was difficult to overwhelm her, and even though this situation came dangerously close to that breaking point, she found her calm, her center, in the eye of the coming storm.

She opened her eyes, focusing on her breathing for one heartbeat, then two, before flinging the covers back and stepping onto a floor that felt unsteady beneath her feet. She padded her way to her closet and picked out some decent clothes that would serve her for whatever journey she was about to be thrown into. She changed clothes, trying to remain as collected as possible. No matter how calm she was, however, she could not shake the feeling of wrongness that was infecting her senses. No change of clothes was going to shake the discomfort of this day. Briefly, with a thought to her few friends who might wonder what had happened to her, she glanced to where her phone should have been resting on her nightstand. It was gone.

She opened the door to face her escorts. Their eyes looked eager, almost predatory in the lifting darkness of her hallway.

"I'm ready."

The one who had spoken to her before smiled at her.

"Good, let's go, shall we?"

Spencer followed the two men past her brother's doors, downstairs, and to the front door. She passed her dad on the way. He looked nervous.

"Remember, honey, no matter what happens, I love you. I'm only doing this because I love you."

He spoke as if he was trying to convince himself of that fact. She could only shake her head in a mixture of sadness and disappointment as one of the men held the front door open for her.

"Goodbye, Spence."

It would have done neither of them any good to speak the words that were running through her head at that moment. She moved out of her house and into a world etched in sun's rising light. She could no longer see her father's sorrowful eyes, but she felt them trained on her back as she left the darkness of her house. With an escort on each side, she was led to a black sedan. The leather seats of the car felt new beneath her as she was ushered inside; they seemed to reject her presence rather than embrace it. The car was also new, but its smell was cloaked by the cloying scent of the cigarette the driver had just flicked out his window. The seatbelt felt tight and uncomfortable against her neck; it burned her skin as she snapped it into place. As she settled, she gave one last glance to her doorway, finding her father standing there. She could not see his tears. As the car accelerated away from her home, she felt her world slipping out from under her along with it. She felt numb.


	2. Deconstructing

Spencer ran her tongue over dry and chapped lips. Every muscle in her body was tense. Her hands gripped the armrests on either side of her as the plane jerked into the sky. She appreciated the way the metal bit into her skin, distracting her from the sickening sensation she felt as the plane rose, and then dropped a final fraction to settle into its appropriate altitude. She loosened her death grip on the armrests, palms now slick with sweat, her body relaxing a degree into the uncomfortable blue seats of Delta flight number 302, non-stop service from Los Angeles to Billings, Montana.

A ding was heard, causing Spencer to flinch in her seat.

"The captain has turned off the fasten seat belt sign. It is now safe to move about the cabin."

The flight attendant's voice was bored and disinterested. She sounded as if she had rehearsed those same lines countless times and was sick of repeating them.

Spencer eased slightly. She was not particularly scared of flying, but take-offs and landings unnerved her. Logically, she knew that planes were safe—safer than cars, in fact, whose accidents totaled over 4000 per day. Still, she could not quell the prick of unease or the bile that crept at the back of her throat every time she rode a plane into the air, quivering and creaking in protest as it went. She knew that airplanes were designed to hurtle through empty space, but every time it happened, she found herself baffled and just a little bit terrified. In any event, even if she was not fond of this form of travel, this was almost a welcome diversion from the events that were taking place. Almost.

The two men on either side of her were relaxed in conversation, oblivious to the fact that they had left solid ground and were now hurtling through air—empty air. She had tuned them out long ago. Their conversations were limited two things—jujitsu and past encounters where they had been forced to use jujitsu. Spencer hadn't even known what the hell jujitsu was before these two had stumbled into her life. Now she was wishing she still didn't.

At least she could now connect the names to their faces. Airport security had solved that mystery when they had examined their passports.

Both men were unnervingly tall—well over six feet in height. Michael was more than a little chubby. He had messy brown hair that looked like it hadn't been combed in a week, and he was dressed in an old t-shirt and equally old, faded jeans that looked like they were purchased on sale at Wal-Mart. Ben, in contrast, had auburn hair that was neatly combed and styled with a carefully groomed patch of stubble on his chin. At least Ben's t-shirt and jeans looked like that had come from some place other than the thrift store down the street.

One slender finger tapped against the metal of the armrest. She missed her ipod. She needed the distraction. She wanted to drown out the sounds around her, drown out the feeling of fear that was clambering for her attention. She didn't want to be afraid—she didn't want to feel anything. She missed the initial numbness she had felt upon climbing into the sedan. That was gone now, replaced by a feeling of insecurity and anxiety. She felt the way she might feel while making a life-altering decision, that sort of weightless feeling where the room spins even though you aren't dizzy.

This wasn't a decision though. This wasn't even a choice. This was a situation her parents had finally found the courage to follow through with. She didn't think they would be capable of doing such a thing to her, even though they had threatened. They had only been threats then, words cast in anger from the heat of the moment that dissipated along with the empty arguments.

She should have never doubted her mother's lack of sensitivity. She should have recognized that her mom would not have a problem with throwing her only daughter away. She should have known her father would have given in like he always did, crumpling before Paula's stern and stolid mannerisms. Oh, she was sure Paula had him convinced this was what Spencer needed, this was what would put her back on track, back to groveling and sniveling for forgiveness instead standing up to her parents' oppression. Wilderness camp would solve all of their problems, because of course Spencer was the source of dysfunction and pain within the family, never Paula. What made her angry was that her mother hadn't even had the guts to send her off, to look her in the eyes and tell her that this was what she thought was best. No, the coward had left that duty to her father, who most likely hadn't even come up with the idea before her mother planted it in his head and nurtured it to life. She remembered her mother saying something about a business trip a few days before, some medical conference in Arizona. Paula had been going to Arizona a lot lately, almost a cause for suspicion. Too bad her father was too gullible and trusting to suspect anything. She would have pitied him if she didn't hate him at the present moment.

Spencer's thoughts turned to her brothers. She doubted Clay and Glen were even aware of the situation. They were probably too caught up in their own methods of escaping the family to notice. She didn't blame them. She would miss Clay, though. She would have liked to think that he would miss her as well, but she couldn't say for sure. Glen would probably celebrate at the opening up of her room and her absence on the couch. He was always such an ass that way, not that she could condemn him for that aspect of his personality—it was simply a part of his "charm."

The plane bucked. Spencer's body and mind went cold. Fingers whose once neatly manicured nails were now gnawed off resumed their grip on the armrest. Ben and Michael continued talking, unaware of the plane's movement. It irked her for some reason that they should be so oblivious. Were they not her escorts? Weren't they supposed to be concerned about her welfare and arrival to this… this New Hope Wilderness Camp? Instead, they chattered on busily, completely ignoring her as she panted lightly in her seat. She thought of trying to get their attention, of prying once more for information on where she was going and what was happening, but from the start, her attempts had failed. She doubted communication with them now would get her anywhere. She may as well have been invisible. Maybe if she knew a thing or two about jujitsu, she could have at the very least received an acknowledgement of her existence, but as it was, the two men refused to do anything but talk through her as if she wasn't there.

The plane stopped its jerking. The pilot's voice came over the loudspeaker, apologizing for the previous turbulence. She took a deep, calming breath, trying to forget her surroundings and enter a world of silence. She wasn't successful.

For three hours and forty-five minutes, Spencer was forced to endure the torture of the plane with no one to talk to and no real idea of what was about to happen to her. It was unsettling, to say the least, even though she eventually managed to drown out her surroundings and slip into a world somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

When she returned to full awareness, she was greeted with the fake smile of the flight attendant. Apparently her seat wasn't forward enough. Spencer sat up, stretching out her neck as she adjusted to the forwardness of the seat. Not a good feeling, especially for someone prone to air sickness. At least Ben and Michael seemed to have run out of things to say for the time being as the plane dipped down toward the earth. Their silence was appreciated.

"Flight attendants, prepare for landing."

Spencer had resumed her original position when the plane had taken off, every muscle braced against the plane's movement. She hated this feeling. It was like the regret you feel when you're stuck on a roller coaster in the front seat, staring down at the biggest, most terrifying drop of your life and there's absolutely nothing you could do about it. She took deep breaths in an attempt to keep her stomach steady as the plane lowered. Her eyes closed. Eternity seemed to pass before the wheels finally reached the tarmac. Safety—finally. She breathed out a sigh of relief as the plane's brakes were engaged and they were safely on the ground.

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to big sky country. We hope you enjoy your stay in Billings, Montana. If your home is here, then we welcome you home."

She tuned out the flight attendant who was speaking, welcoming everyone to Montana and thanking them for using Delta. Spencer could have cared less. She was too fixated on the fact that she was in Billings, Montana to care about what fake pleasantries the flight attendant was uttering. Billings, Montana. It ran through her mind over and over again as if repetition might help it sink in.

It didn't.

The trio rose from their seats as the seat belt sign was turned off, Spencer not really left with a choice as Michael ushered her up. She took her first step in Billings, Montana as they left the plane.

Ben and Michael now moved with purpose. Spencer struggled to keep up as they maneuvered about the airport, skipping baggage claim to escape the terminal. As soon as they left the terminal, they were flagged down by a middle-aged woman dressed in a simple navy blue print dress. Glasses with slender frames were perched on the bridge of her nose. Ben and Michael halted their forward momentum, waiting as the woman approached.

"Spencer Carlin, I presume?"

Spencer could only nod her head. She had no idea how the woman had picked her out of the crowd. Not that it was packed, exactly, but how had she known without seeing her before?

"Yes, well, I'm Mrs. Linton. Spencer, you'll be coming with me now. Um, Mr…"

"Please. I'm Ben and this here is Michael," Ben introduced them. He extended his hand. She stared at it for a second too long as if she couldn't quite figure out what it was before taking it gingerly. Michael also put out his hand, although he did so reluctantly.

"Well then, Ben and Michael, I don't think Spencer will be needing your services any longer, she's with me now. All right? Thank you, boys."

Spencer didn't know whether to be relieved or worried. This woman seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. As if to enunciate this thought, Mrs. Linton turned to her with an almost wolfish grin.

"Guess this is the end of the road then. Bye, Spencer. Good luck, girl. You'll be needing it." Ben's voice was too casual for his words.

"Bye, Spencer." Michael's smile was weak as he turned away from her. She couldn't help but think his final words to her were as forgettable as he was, himself. She wondered briefly if she would even remember him other than a blurry face years down the road. If she even made it years down the road, that is.

The two left with half-hearted waves and Spencer turned her full attention to Mrs. Linton.

"Are you ready dear?"

"Do I have a choice?" Those were the first words that could have had the slightest inclination toward a rebellious attitude. Probably not the best way to hit it off with this woman, but Spencer couldn't find that she cared.

The woman's smile lost any charm it might have had before that rhetorical question—it was now almost superior and discerning.

"Come, dear."

Mrs. Linton turned on her heel, glancing behind her to make sure Spencer wasn't about to make a break for it. She considered it, but was to smart to try anything. She knew that the ramifications of that move would probably be even worse than what was about to happen to her already. So, like a good follower, she fell in step to the woman's short and awkward stride, taking one slow step to Mrs. Linton's two.

"Where are we going? When is someone going to tell me what's going on?"

Mrs. Linton's expression remained the same. "I guess you'll just have to find out, sweetie."

The gentle tone in Mrs. Linton's voice fell short of its goal. Spencer felt invisible hackles rise.

Regardless, she followed the woman's direction, stepping outside where an old, beat-up van with peeling red paint awaited her. Transportation of stars, to be sure. She wondered how many other terrified or perhaps not so terrified teenagers had entered its depths as she climbed inside, settling into ripped leather seats. She was considering other kids who had sat where she was sitting, trying to imagine what emotions had raged through them while they had been in her situation. Mrs. Linton climbed into the driver seat as Spencer remained pensive, putting the van into gear. Wordlessly, they embarked upon Spencer's virgin voyage through big sky country. Some undisclosed destination awaited them, the mystery location where Spencer's life was sure to change. She could only imagine what awaited her as they slipped through the pathetic excuse of a city and into the vast expanses of open country.


	3. Eyes Open

_AN: Get ready, folks. Spencer, meet Ashley._

_Musical Inspiration:_

_Best Days – Graham Colton_

_One Last Song – Josiah Leming (love this kid)_

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She missed her bed.

She missed her phone.

She missed her friends.

(Though she doubted they missed her.)

She missed her school.

She missed Clay's hugs.

She missed Glen's ugly face.

She missed her dad, even if she would pretend to hate him for the next year.

She almost missed her mom. Or, that is, she would have, if Paula had ever been there to miss.

Not even nine hours had passed since her father woke her up at such an unusual time to such an unusual circumstance. Two car rides and one plane ride later, and she was already feeling her losses. So soon, she felt the gaps in her life. She felt like a box that someone has just tripped over, leaving her contents spewed haphazardly across a floor to be stepped on and forgotten. She felt empty, void of everything except the sick weight of dread in her stomach as she stepped from the decrepit van and into her new future. She was the lonely apartment whose previous tenants had abandoned it, leaving only the memory of furniture and life and happiness in their wake. Cobwebs, dust, and sorrow now filled the naked corners of her life as she waited for the next occupant who might look at that empty space and care enough to fill it.

She was feeling a little shaky as she took her first steps in the "Wilderness Camp." Her arms were crossed over her chest, her hands trying to generate warmth as they ran up and down over her skin. It was February, and this was no California winter. There was snow on the ground, and she was dressed in a very thin and tight-fitting brown and white striped t-shirt paired with faded jeans.

A car door slammed behind her, making her jump. She turned to face Ms. Linton, teeth beginning to grind as she attempted to stop their chattering.

"Welcome to New Hope."

The woman's cordiality was gone. She was in her element now, and Spencer had never felt more out of place and awkward.

"Wh-what—"

"Follow me." The woman interrupted her and smiled thinly—an expression that failed to reach her eyes.

They moved forward, and for the first time, Spencer glimpsed a massive tent. She eyed it warily. Its white walls melded with the thin layer of snow that cloaked the ground and surrounding pine trees.

As if reading her thoughts, Ms. Linton finally turned to her to provide her with information. "Spencer, that tent is where you'll be sleeping tonight. I'll have one of the team leaders give you your new clothes and instructions, okay?"

Did this woman always need to ask for her acknowledgement, or was she just particularly annoying? At least Ms. Linton was smart enough not to wait for a response she wasn't going to get.

"Right this way."

Instead of heading inside the imposing tent as Spencer assumed they would, they headed toward a smaller shed. There were small gaps through the wood, as if this structure had been built by hand. There was, however, a door that they passed through. The inside was just as crudely constructed as the outside.

A middle-aged man was seating behind a relatively smooth log desk, examining what looked to be a sample of urine. Behind him were rows of containers and medical equipment. He paused what he was doing as they entered.

"Dr. Harlan, this is Spencer. She'll be needing the usual, when you get a chance."

He peered at her as if through imaginary glasses. She couldn't shake the feeling that his probing eyes were trying to read her. She also had the sinking feeling that she'd be getting a lot more of that while she was here.

"Drug test and a physical? Sure thing." He went back to examining his urine sample.

His expansion of her words seemed to irk Ms. Linton, as if she wanted to keep Spencer in the dark as much as possible. As if the girl wasn't smart enough to connect Wilderness Camp to a urine test. Just because she was blonde didn't mean she was also incompetent. The woman's mouth twisted just the slightest bit into a grimace.

"Right." Ms. Linton's tone was dry. She turned once more to Spencer, visibly attempting to conjure some of her previous pleasant attitude. "Well, Spencer, I'll be catching up to you later, once Dr. Harlan has finished, all right?"

Again with the annoying request of reassurance. Spencer decided to appease her, just this once. "All right."

"Good. I'll see you later, darling."

Spencer was left there, again awkward, alone, and cold in the center of this makeshift shed stocked with drug tests and medical equipment.

"How you feeling?" Spencer blinked back into focus at the doctor's question. She found the doctor was staring at her again.

"Huh? Oh, well, you know. Just fine for having been uprooted and shipped to Montana. Fantastic, really."

The doctor smiled, crow's feet appearing at the corners of his eyes. He removed his attention from her as he lifted a sharpie to make a mark on the cup it looked like he had been testing. It was a smile of acceptance.

"It'll get better, you know. You'll get used to it here. You might even like it after a while." Somehow, she doubted that. She preferred her psycho family and friends that she knew and her comfortable living arrangements as opposed to being thrown out into the wild with strangers who examined her as if she were a lab rat.

Having finished writing whatever mark he had made, he got up from his folding chair, a coat in his hand. "Here, take this coat. You look like you're freezing." She accepted the coat, which was many too sizes too large for her, but comforting nonetheless.

"Okay, Spencer." He retraced his previous movements only to return with a sealed container in his hands. "I'll need to take a urine sample, and then we'll have a look at you."

"I haven't taken any drugs or alcohol, you know. I don't do that sort of thing," she piped up.

He eyed her. "I would say I believe you, but unfortunately I've been proven wrong too many times before. Plus, this is just standard procedure. Have to follow the rules, you know." He winked at her, a pleasant smile on his face. He was pretty likeable; she had to give him that.

She took the cup and went in the direction that he motioned her to go. Their excuse of a toilet was basically a hole in the ground. The stench was awful.

She returned, sample in hand, which he took and placed on the desk. He then moved her to a table (a plastic one, thank you) and began to go through a standard range of tests.

"So, what's going to happen to me, exactly?"

The doctor didn't falter in his ministrations at her question. "Well, I wish I could tell you, but that's something you're going to have to find out for yourself. It's a different experience for everyone."

It was still cryptic, but at least it was more cordial than any other response she had received thus far. Better than her father's 'you're going on an adventure.'

Dr. Harlan asked her a list of customary medical questions about her health which she responded to agreeably. He stepped back from her.

"Looks like you're pretty healthy, Spencer." He glanced at his testing equipment before adding, "And clean." He smiled at that, then regained his seriousness as he regarded her. "You'll need to watch that you're eating enough while you're here, though. You're looking pretty skinny."

Yeah, she got that a lot. It was probably something she was going to have to be careful of, especially in this… emotionally stressful environment.

All of a sudden, as if in accordance with that thought, yelling interrupted their previously calm environment. Both Spencer and Dr. Harlan were distracted from what he had been saying. They didn't have to strain to hear what was being said as the voice drew closer.

"I don't fucking _need_ medical attention! What do you not get about that?!" A girl's voice was heard outside the shed, almost hysterical in her aversion to going to visit the doctor. Dr. Harlan let out an exasperated sigh as he swiveled to face the entryway, his shoulders squaring up as if in preparation of entering the fray of some barroom brawl. The voice was obviously not new to him.

"Well, honey, you need it, okay? Don't fight me on this, or I'll have to call Joshua to assist me…" Spencer would recognize that voice anywhere—it was Ms. Linton.

"I said no! What? You think I can't handle a fucking cut on my head? You think I'm gonna die from this _scratch_?! Trust me, I've seen way worse than this. I've survived from way worse than this, _okay,_ woman?! I don't need to see some fucking doctor that's just going to stitch me up and pat me on the head and tell me to feel better!"

"Miss Davies…"

"_Don't _fucking call me Miss Davies! It's Ashley, woman, Ashley! Why can't you get that right?! … _Don't fucking touch me._"

The pair burst through the door as if a bombshell had exploded. The girl who called herself Ashley was like a whirlwind flying through the makeshift door, grounded only by her human flesh and tan complexion. Her brown curls were a mess atop her head, matted with blood and dirt. The girl looked like all hell—her chest heaving, and drab clothing torn, askew, and smeared with mud. She had obviously been there longer than Spencer, already sporting the New Hope uniform Spencer had yet to receive.

Ashley turned to face her. Well, not really face her. Pierce, or maybe skew her perhaps would be a more fitting term as Spencer found herself scalded by hazel eyes that were more akin to liquid fire than brown irises. She felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs as movement stilled and the world was put on an extravagant pause. Their eyes stayed connected for one unbelievable heartbeat, then two—the only sound in the room emerging from Ashley's heaving chest. In the midst of the chaos this girl was spreading, the connection of their eyes brought an immediate calm. And it wasn't just Spencer who was caught in an instant trance—Ashley had gone from raving beast to crouching tiger, all in the span of a second. Her energy was now retained behind eyes that remained fixed on the blond girl seated on the plastic table.

Just as quickly as their eyes had connected, the moment was broken like a particularly brittle twig when Ms. Linton tentatively reached out to touch Ashley's arm. It was snapped apart, obliterated, crushed as Ashley leapt back from the contact. Spencer resisted the urge to shake her head, which felt strangely clouded and ridiculous as this girl before her continued her previously interrupted dramatic confrontation. Maybe it was her imagination, but Ashley seemed to be putting up less of a fight than before she had entered the shed door. Spencer remained almost stupidly engrossed in the situation, as if she were staring at a math equation that wasn't adding up to her.

"Ashley." Dr. Harlan's voice rose above all, firm and unyielding. Surprisingly, it made Ashley pause. Ms. Linton, with a frustrated sigh and what could have been a muttered expletive, gave up on trying to get a hold of the girl.

"Yes, Dr. Harlan?" Ashley had made a 360 degree turnaround with that approachable voice, her movements calming. She still had an air of strumming energy about her, even when she was still. The room was buzzing with it now as Dr. Harlan approached her. She looked at him with nostrils flared, but didn't flinch as he examined a wound located on the back of her head. Dr. Harlan stepped back.

"Ashley, you need stitch—"

"Oh, fuck that." Ashley rolled her eyes, preparing to resume her previous behaviors.

"Ashley, stop! You will do as I say, or you'll lose all group privileges. Are we clear?" That caught her attention. Ashley glanced at Spencer with a look of anxiety in her eyes before returning her attention to the doctor.

There was a heavy pause, and then, "But I hate needles, Doc! I'd rather have the hole in my head." A note of pleading had entered her voice, as if she now knew she was fighting a losing battle. Her lips had gained an almost pouty edge.

"Ashley, you'll be fine." His voice was commanding.

She heaved an explosive sigh before becoming visibly and bitterly resigned.

"Whatever, I'll do it, just get it over with." She moved toward the table. "I fucking hate needles, I really fucking do," was muttered under her breath as she approached and stopped about a yard away from the girl with vivid blue eyes. Spencer felt herself being examined.

"Who are you?"

Spencer felt as if her mouth had turned to cotton balls, and she hadn't the slightest idea why. Her capacity for speech had fled out the window as she tried to muster a response.

Ms. Linton chose to interject—anything to further aggravate Ashley. "Come on, Ashley, you know the rules. No talking to anyone." The woman gave Spencer a pointed look, purposely refusing to use her name. "You'll be coming with me, now. Time to get you oriented."

Ashley whirled to face Ms. Linton once again. "Jesus Christ, am I not allowed to ask for someone's name? I mean, come on, it's not like we're going to make some 'great escape' when we're who knows how many miles from civilization! I mean I'm good, but I'm not _that_ good."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is!"

Ms. Linton brushed past her to grab hold of Spencer's arm. Spencer stared down at it as if it repulsed her, then looked back to Ashley, back to warm summer brown eyes that just looked irritated where before they had been feral. She could have sworn her features softened as they held each other's gaze. Spencer felt a tug on her arm and was jerked from the table and from her continued trance.

"Spencer. Spencer Carlin." She breathed it from her lips as Ms. Linton dragged her out the door, sputtering angrily as she went.

They were only a few strides away when, from inside the shed, Ashley called out after her. "See you 'round, Spencer!"

Ms. Linton's mumblings got louder and more irritated. Spencer glanced back until she was forced to focus on where her feet were landing, the doctor's coat still draped over her shoulers. As she was marched to the impending tent of horror, she felt the dread in her stomach ease just the tiniest of degrees.


	4. Paper Walls

A pile of folded clothes were brusquely thrust into Spencer's waiting hands by a man with startling green eyes and a mess of black hair.

"These are your… your clothes. You can change behind that wall." The man who had handed her the clothes pointed a finger at a large square board that was propped up against the tent wall. It looked unstable. She turned back to the man whom Ms. Linton had introduced to her as Matt. He was the one who was assigned with the duty of acquainting her with her new living arrangements.

"When you're done, give one of the leaders the clothes you're wearing. We'll keep them with everybody else's." He spoke abruptly. Everything about this man was rapid and uneasy, from his constantly shifting weight to the anxiety in his jade eyes. He blinked forcibly, as if he were flinching from some object only visible to him or perhaps reacting to some unseen pain.

"Will I get them back?"

"No, no. Not anytime soon, you won't."

Spencer looked down to the clothes in her hands. Included were thermals, rugged khaki pants, a hoodie, a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of camouflage pants, and a fleece sweatshirt. The primary color scheme was an ugly green that reminded her of asparagus. Except for the hoodie, that is, which was orange. Matt's clothes were fashioned of similar colors.

Spencer's newly appointed guide moved toward a different board that was resting on a frame of PVC pipe. The tent was lined with such structures, all bare and uninviting. There were at least ten feet between each board. Matt glanced over his shoulder to make sure that she was following, his strides short and unsure.

"This is where you'll be sleeping. Everyone has their… has their own bed. There'll be no talking during this time. This is the…the individual phase." Every now and then, there was a hitch in his words that matched the irregular pattern of his blinking eyes. Only as he continued to talk did his speech begin to flow, as if he were easing into a pattern that he was forced to relearn every time he opened his mouth. "Everything you do, you do on your own. At the start of each week, we give you enough oats, lentils, bread, and rice to last the week. If you're good, you'll get one potato and a carrot for the week. If you're… you're lucky, you'll get a can of peaches. If we catch you talking, we'll cut your food rations. Punishments will be dealt out as each leader sees fit. If you need to use the toilet, go outside and find a bush."

He paused, eying her up and down. He reminded her of a bear staring down his next meal, causing her to mentally retract, even if her body remained still. His fingers were partially curled at his side, lips parted so the ridges of his lower teeth were exposed. "You'll be a part of Team Beaver. Other than Team… Team Beaver, there are teams Elk, Wolf, Falcon, and Bear."

Resisting the urge to lengthen the distance between them, she spoke up. "What am I going to do during the day?"

"This is survivor week. You learn how to… how to survive. Fires will be started for you for the first week. After that, you're on your own." He leaned toward her slightly with his last words, his voice offering her a sense of foreboding. She felt chills creep up her arms that had very little to do with the cold climate and falling sun. With the surrounding foliage, visibility was already low, giving everything a haunted edge.

Matt swung one tense, muscled arm to her bed frame, leaving it hanging in the direction of a backpack and boots that sat at the foot of the board. "Inside that pack, you'll find your bed mat and food rations." The arm fell. "When you're ready, you can take your food and go to one of the fires. They'll be starting them soon." He looked as if he were hesitant; searching for any other instructions he might have forgotten. However, he quickly snapped out of his pause, his lips now meeting in a frown as fretful eyes returned to hers. "Good luck." Stiffly, he turned on his booted heel and receded to stand along the opposite tent wall.

She looked after him for a moment, standing there as if time were suspended for a few terse seconds before she picked up her boots and moved behind the board. After changing her clothes as quickly as humanly possible while trying to avoid standing on the damp dirt floor, she emerged and walked over to Matt, handing him her clothes and sneakers. He accepted them with a jerky nod before breaking away from his station to store the fabric in some concealed location.

She was surprised when the tent began to fill with people. Boys and girls all near her age began filing through the flaps, their eyes holding different looks that ranged from nervous to haunted to bored. Their faces were sallow, most lined with dark circles beneath heavy eyes. Hair was not kept in any particular order, and some of the older boys had stubble sprouting from chins and sideburns. Adults walked among them, like shepherds tending their obedient sheep.

Spencer stood there, paralyzed, like a deer debating between remaining still in hopes of passing unnoticed or bolting to avoid the situation altogether. She stood there, awkwardly, looking on and considering what to do next until a woman's raspy yell broke the unnerving silence of the tent. Spencer jumped in response.

"Time for dinner, everyone! Go to your fires!" The woman speaking looked to be in her 60s, dressed in what looked to be a lengthy gypsy skirt with a number of neutral colors all swirled into one so that it was difficult to differentiate where one ended and another began. Her hair was a long, gleaming silver that was draped over the customary asparagus green sweatshirt. She held an air of authority about her, chin poised high and shoulders open with hands clasped behind her back.

"And remember, no talking!" It was the gruff addition of one of the male leaders. She heard a few grumbled complaints in response.

Spencer craned her neck for a glimpse of a familiar face, eyes searching for mahogany curls and fiery amber eyes, but her efforts were not rewarded. She felt fingers clutch her shoulder and whirled around with a sharp intake of breath, fending off the unsolicited touch. She was met with Matt's blinking, emerald eyes. There was no recognition there that he had just frightened her.

"Time to… to eat. Grab your pack."

Spencer walked back to retrieve her pack, approaching Matt with it as he prepared a fire for her and looked up. He took the backpack from her and searched through it for the rice and lentils, also extracting a pot as he went.

"Ready?"

She nodded, not liking this one bit, but watching as he showed her how to prepare her food.

She ate her first meal in solitude with only the disturbing glances of Matt to keep her company. The boy crouching at the fire closest to her continually attempted to make eye contact, but she ignored him. The feeling of both pairs of eyes on her crawled at her skin as she tried to focus on the tasteless food that was slipping down her throat.

The evening passed in calm. There was a fight that broke out between a girl and an instructor, causing Spencer's head to snap around impulsively and the flutter of false hope to beckon in her stomach, but it was nothing of interest. The two snapped at one another like wolves over the remains of a meal before the tent settled once more into the symphony of crackling wood and clinking pots. The only sound of speech emerged from the murmuring of two group leaders in the corner.

The only light came from the glow of fires when the same woman as before stepped into the middle of the tent. She cleared her throat before expelling yet another command. "Time for bed everyone! Put out your fires!"

Everyone looked too tired to protest—not even a grunt of complaint was offered as youths rolled up into stiff stretches, extinguishing their fires and carrying packs to their assigned bed frames. Spencer approached her own. She felt without looking that the same kid as before was attempting to make contact with her, trying to communicate with his heavy glances and smiles. She should have pounced on the presented opportunity of a comrade, but she didn't even bother to offer him an apologetic glance as she rolled out her mat on her board and spread out a blanket from her pack.

She couldn't help but wonder where the girl from the doctor's shed was as she had not yet glimpsed her in the tent. She would have liked to deny that her eyes had been scanning the rows of people for sight of the girl's face, but every now and then while she had been eating her eyes had definitively strayed from her ever captivating rice and lentils to sweep the tent.

She scrutinized the tent a final time before shrugging off the memory of the girl and the sensation that came along with it in the same way that she shrugged her way into bed, allowing her mind to return to the safety of numbness as she focused on the rustlings of other boys and girls climbing into bed. Closing her eyes, she felt sleep not far from her grasp and allowed it to enfold her in a web of darkness, not allowing her thoughts to wander and stalk the dangerous paths of awareness. The questions that swam in her head like hungry sharks would have to be patient in wait of their next appeasement.

After a heavy sigh and determined efforts not to let her mind return to the dangerous trap of yearning she had previously fallen into, Spencer's breathing deepened and heartbeat slowed its rate. She slipped off into dreamless sleep.


	5. Through the Dark

"Hey, you. Wake up." Spencer felt her entire body move back and forth in response to the grip of foreign fingers on her arm. Speech failing her still slumbering tongue, only a groan was emitted from tired lips. The combination of her exhaustion and her avid devotion to sleep made her unreceptive of this intrusion of privacy.

Again, she was shaken. This time by her shoulder, and vigorously so. She batted off the offending hand.

"Come onnn. Get up!" That voice was an agitated whisper.

Spencer barely managed to fend off sleep in response, cracking one eyelid open to be met with a bruised face creased with irritation. She failed to fully register who it was, even if the memory of warm brown eyes and a moment caught in time flashed to the forefront of her mind.

"Who… who're _you_?" Her voice sounded almost drunk.

"The girl from the shed, remember? With the doctor?"

A pregnant pause followed as Spencer tried to coax her mind into functioning. Recognition dawned on her as the name that should never have left her lips or memory, returned.

"Ohhh, _Ash_ley."

The ghost of a smile crossed Ashley's lips.

"Yes, _Ashley_. Now get up."

That was a shock. Almost enough to snap Spencer out of her sleep-induced fog. Almost, but not quite. Spencer was not an easy person to wake.

"Where are we going?"

Through the darkness, Spencer saw Ashley roll her eyes in contempt. "To the moon. Now just get up and come with me."

"But aren't we gonna get in trouble? I don't wanna get in trouble…"

Ashley made an exasperated sound. "Come on, no one's going to catch us."

"No, but we will. I don't wanna see you get in trouble again." Spencer tried to sound grave in her sleep-inebriated state.

"Oh, God, please no. You're one of those bible-thumping, Jesus-worshipping, tree-hugging, 'I love everyone,' follow-the-rules-and-play-it-safe kind of girls, aren't you?" Ashley's voice bordered on theatrical.

"How do you know I worship Jesus and… and… thump the bible! I don't even go to church!" Spencer protested. She tried to sit up on her rickety board of a bed.

Ashley smirked, an expression riddled with zealous confidence and guile. She quirked up an eyebrow. "Fine then. Prove it. _Jesus lover_."

Spencer stayed silent and glared at her.

"Just come on, we don't have all night." Having expended her patience, Ashley grabbed Spencer's arm and tugged her from her bed. She stumbled out of her elongated position, nearly dying from shock of the cold. Ashley looked at her as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing, then snapped out of her surprise. "Here, take the coat." She snatched the ugly green sweatshirt up from the foot of Spencer's bed and threw it at her, hitting Spencer in the face. "Now come on."

Spencer barely had time to put on the hiking boots the facility had supplied her with before being dragged forward by her arm. It was actually quite painful.

"_Ouch_."

"Oh, sorry." Ashley released her grip.

They crept out of the tent, feet brushing the soil with silent steps as they passed the slumbering group leaders. Only one was not in bed, and he was slouched over the dwindling embers of a fire. He appeared to have dozed off. No worries there.

They walked in silence once they made their way outside, their breaths hushed in the frigid winter air, movements careful so as to avoid the creation of any revealing noises. They were cautious and tense, alert to any movement that might disrupt their forbidden outing. Spencer was so caught up in escaping unseen that she was momentarily oblivious to the gravity and portent of this situation.

Ashley, more familiar with the feelings of peril that threatened, broke her focus to glance at Spencer. "You know, I usually don't cuss that much." Her statement broke the quiet.

It took her a second to realize what she was referring to. Spencer, raising an eyebrow, offered Ashley a sidelong glance that questioned the girl's sanity for bringing up such a random, irrelevant topic right now. "Okay… not that I care."

"Just thought I'd, you know, clear that up."

Spencer, bemused, returned her attention to the task at hand. "All right, well, it's cleared. Not that there was ever anything to clear in the first place. Because unlike you think, I'm not a bible thumper."

"Uh-huh, sure."

Spencer gave her a menacing glare.

"Where are we going, anyway?"

"There's this place I saw today when I had to go to my designated space. I thought I'd check it out and see what it looks like at night. I didn't want to go alone and I figured you could use some, um… help… adjusting."

"Your… space?" Spencer gave her a quizzical look.

"Yeah. You know, the place… Oh, right, you only got here today."

Instead of explaining, Ashley remained silent, suddenly pensive. Spencer didn't press for details. She had other questions of greater priority nagging at her mind.

"So how long have you been here?" Spencer asked.

"Three days."

"Wow, only three days and you've already started trouble?" Spencer laughed lightly and Ashley couldn't help but spread her lips in a sheepish smile.

"Yeah, I guess I know how to make an impression on people." Spencer could only shake her head in response.

Their walk had grown almost careless as the distance between them and the tent grew, so much so that they were unprepared for the loud rustle that sounded from a bush beside them. Spencer, closest to the bush, slammed right into Ashley in her fright as the words "Oh shit!" breathed from Ashley's lips. They both ducked down instinctively, thinking it was either a wild and ferocious animal or, worse, one of their group leaders. A few seconds passed before Spencer's wildly beating heart began to calm. She turned to Ashley.

"I thought you said you didn't cuss." It was a hiss.

"I thought you said you didn't care." Ashley offered Spencer her smug smirk, once again.

Touché.

"Besides, I do cuss. Just usually not that much."

Spencer just rolled her eyes.

After a few moments of weighted silence, Ashley got up from her awkward position on the ground, checking to make sure the coast was clear. She looked back to Spencer. "It's okay, it's clear." Spencer rose beside her. They continued their walk, both a little more cautious in their step.

Spencer was the first to break the careful silence between them as they slipped beneath the boughs of trees. "So… what happened to your face?" She ducked her head a degree and gave Ashley a glimpse of her wide and innocuous eyes. Her words were met with Ashley's frowning lips and furrowed brow. Her entire demeanor had shifted. Apparently, Spencer's attempt at nonchalantly broaching the subject that had been on her mind since their encounter in the doctor's shed was unsuccessful. She was always abrupt about that kind of thing, as if she hadn't had the social schooling to know how to slide into delicate conversation and ease her way through sensitive topics. Instead, she threw the words into the open like a jeweler casting gems carelessly across a counter, uncaring as to whether they would cascade onto the floor or be viewed by potential customers.

"Uhh, nasty fall. The terrain here is brutal, let me tell you." A few steps of brittle quiet ensued before Ashley stopped and turned to Spencer. Spencer felt as if she had run into a boulder, or perhaps as if her boots had suddenly grown roots and refused to part with the soil. Her attention was seized by the graveness of Ashley's expression. "Let's not talk about it, okay?"

Spencer hardly heard her, too focused on pleading eyes that persevered through the darkness to convey their intent.

"Okay."

As gracelessly as Spencer had planted the seed of that conversation, Ashley smoothly snatched it up and concealed it. They resumed their walk, their silence suspended between them.

Both were lost in the mazes of their own thoughts before they finally approached Ashley's destination. A smile transformed Ashley's brooding lips as her recognition of the place filled her. Her voice was excited and a little breathy as she turned to Spencer, walking sideways for a few paces as she regarded her companion. "Spence… we're here. This is it." Her teeth flashed before she turned and disappeared through the frame of two tree trunks.

For Spencer, walking through that last defense of forest was like leaving a heavy fog. Beneath the cover of ancient pines and trees whose naked arms now carried the weight of the season's snow, she had felt clouded and claustrophobic. Darkness had folded upon her like a box closing around a mewling kitten. The trees had been observing her, calculating her reactions and mocking her situation in this fated correction camp. There were always eyes on her, ripping at her flesh, tearing her apart, delving into stubborn secrets that clung to the comfort of concealment. Even the doctor's gentle touches and wordless glances had felt probing and provocative beneath the outstretched arms of that unwelcoming forest, a place where the darkness was oppressive instead of safe.

With her first step from the trees, she felt as if she were lifting a veil from troubled eyes and pallid skin. An empty meadow spread before her with its magnificent mantle of ivory. She felt exposed on its flawless surface, but beautifully so, where secrets were not judged and deviations not countered. Her body became drenched in silver, pouring from the cup of the moon suspended in the sky, blonde waves becoming a sallow gold beneath the unearthly light cascading from above. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the sliver of the moon lounging in the sky, distracted only by the massive congregation of stars—so many that they overwhelmed her eyes with swirling myths and fantasies. She was lost for a moment in their figures, stunned by their winking brightness and glimmering brilliance. They seemed to dance before her eyes, Auriga swinging in his chariot and Lepus the hare bounding through empty paths of light. Monoceros, with his bright horn and beauty, galloped to life where usually he was shrouded in the darkness of invisibility and mystery. Orion, to his left, stood strong and familiar, his sword suspended at his belt and arm flashing through the air in true warrior fashion.

She stood entranced at the border of a meadow, the snow glistening before her like a sea of countless diamonds. Spencer's breath was lost somewhere deep inside her at the sight, caught and withheld from lips that were parted in awe. She had lost the ability to breathe, completely enraptured by the scene before her. It was all so unreal that she found she had also lost her ability to move, stranded at the edge as if the beauty were too great to allow her passage to its center.

Then there was Ashley, who was standing inside that beauty, wrapped up in it so that she, too, with her ignited waves of brown hair and flashing hazel eyes, was a part of that fantastic tapestry. The moment she had bounded beyond the border, she had whirled to embrace that beauty, to be sewn up into a patchwork quilt of revelation and splendor. They were enveloped in this moment, lost in a ripple in time that was there just for them. And now Ashley was walking inside of that moment, treading through their private globe as she broke from her stance, stepping across their carpet of white gems toward Spencer. The smile that was pressed against her full lips was soft and radiant, comforting and endearing on a face that was so swollen with pain. Spencer felt her approach, feeling drawn to her as if by some magnetic force, pulling her out of the sky to land somewhere betwixt reality and fantasy as sapphire became lost in chocolate brown.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Ashley's voice was reverent, as if by speaking too loudly, her words might splinter their calm. Spencer was surprised to find the sting of tears in her eyes. The world was blurred with the gloss of them, distorted by salty liquid. She blinked them away, slowly, viewing Ashley through the luster of those hazy lenses. She felt as if she was seeing everything through the film of those unshed tears, and not just looking, not just casually glancing, but really seeing the world that encapsulated them both. She found every curve of Ashley's face visible to her, vision tracing the lofty grooves of sloping cheekbones and the softness of cheeks that were flushed with the cold. Her face, caught in an upward tilt, was bathed in moonlight, illuminating eyes that held all of eternity in their depths. Spencer found herself as lost in them as she had been amongst the many constellations roaming the sky, unable to break away from the startling vision of amber and gold-flecked irises. Her attention was diverted only when those soft lips parted in preparation of speech, lips determined to fluctuate through the motions of countering the wetness coating Spencer's eyes. She felt the sudden urge to silence that roving tongue, the need to return a smile to somber lips. She needed to be that reason that they regained their former lilt. She was rushing, hastening to beat the sounds that threatened to shatter the icy purity of that moment--_their_moment.

"Beautiful It's beautiful." Her gaze did not stray from Ashley's, snagged there as if by some unseen line. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn't the stars and the meadow of glittering pearls before her that her words referred to—words that were made brave beneath the exposure of moonbeams and starlight upon the bared flesh of the meadow. Maybe the scene was but an ember when measured to a greater, more vibrant flame. And there, the smile, it returned, and Spencer, unable to deny its presence, could not help but return the expression through the dampness of emotions that refused to be stemmed.

Deep in the communion of night, Spencer and Ashley remained entranced, tangled in shared smiles and locking eyes. And all the while, the night spun on, unnoticed, around them.


End file.
